AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Not that I haven’t been doing a little of that myself. But whatever is causing her tears, it’s likely drama of the type that I don’t want to get involved in.
You don’t want complications,I remind myself as I walk toward her.She’s a college student, she said. She’s probably fighting with a friend. It could be anything. This has nothing to do with you.
So why, then, do I feel as if I’m being pulled by a magnet up to the edge of her table, as if, once again, I can’t resist her allure?
I haven’t stopped thinking about her since the night I took her back to my hotel. That alone is enough reason to stay away. But all the same, I find myself standing there, looking down at her as I make an entirely inappropriate joke.
“Are the mimosas here reallythatbad?”
She gasps, startled, and wipes nervously at her face. She’s crying too hard for it to do much, and I pull out the chair next to her, sitting down, and handing her the only clean napkin I see. “God, this is embarrassing,” she whispers, dabbing the napkin against her eyes. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Cried in public?” I wince, hearing myself make light of it again, but she seems to bring the desire to needle her out in me, even when I know I should be kinder. “Did your friends leave you here?” I’m not even sure why I’m prying for what’s wrong. I shouldn’t care. But the questions seem to come out before I can stop them. “What’s happened that’s so awful?”
Amalie’s face is tear-streaked, her eyes red, and somehow, she’s still impossibly gorgeous. “I can’t—” she sniffles again, covering her face with her hands as the napkin drops to her lap. “I can’t even say it. It’s too humiliating.”
I’m on the verge of giving up and walking away—I came here for a late brunch, not to pry a story out of a girl I spent one night with—when I see a waiter walking towards the table, a man who can only be the manager in tow. It’s at that moment that I spy the credit card and Amalie’s phone sitting haphazardly on the table, see the unpaid bill, and get an inkling of what might be going on.
“Is there a problem with your card?” I ask quietly, and Amalie flinches, looking up at me with freshly-welling eyes. “Surely it’s just an international thing. Call and sort it out. I’ll even distract the waiter with banal conversation while you—”
“I tried.” Her voice is a small, humiliated whisper. “It’s not—it’s my mother. She cut it off.”
Oh, this is delicious.A spark of an idea forms in my head the instant she says it, as the situation becomes clear to me. A spoiled rich girl, here in Ibiza with her friends, probably without telling her parents where she’s going. Now Amalie is finding out the consequences—and even though I know what I’m considering is wrong on so many levels, I can’t help but entertain the idea. After all, it’s not like she didn’t enjoy the night in my bed. And I could enjoy so much more, if I let myself use this to my advantage.
“I take it you didn’t getpermissionto run off to Ibiza for your spring break?” I ask her dryly, and I see her cheeks heat, flushing a bright red. She has a sprinkling of light freckles on her nose and cheeks, and the blush brings them out. I find myself wanting to graze my lips over them, an urge that I find as unsettling as the desire for her that I can’t seem to shake.
“What do you think?” she asks tartly, and I chuckle.
“No need to take that tone with me, young lady,” I murmur. My voice is teasing, but I see her flush deeper, and I know it did something to her.Oh, this could be so much fun.“I might just be able to save your pretty ass, if you’re open to ideas.”
She glares at me, her mouth opening as if to retort, but at that moment, the waiter and the manager arrive at the table. Before either of them can say a word, I slip my thin leather billfold out and hand the manager my black credit card.
“I’ll take care of it,” I tell him smoothly. “Just give us a few moments of privacy.”
“Of course, sir.” They’re gone in an instant, and I turn all of my attention back to Amalie.
“See how easy that was?” I raise an eyebrow. “I’m guessing you planned on staying here a little longer, at least. Are your friends going to help you with your problem?”
Her teeth sink into her lower lip, and her gaze flicks down to the table. “I don’t know,” she admits, her voice turning small again.
“I’ll be in Ibiza for another week.” I lean forward, reaching out to slip my fingers under her chin, tilting her face upwards so that she’s looking at me. “You can stay in the penthouse with me, if you like. I’ll pay for everything, treat you like a princess—but you have to agree to one thing.”
There’s a flicker of suspicion in Amalie’s eyes. “What’s that?” she asks, her voice still trembling a little, and I have to fight the urge to run my fingers over her lower lip.
“You have to agree to do whatever I want for the week,” I murmur, low and seductive, quiet enough that only she can hear. My hand brushes along her jaw, and I see her eyes widen, the struggle in her between what I’m offering and her pride. “You’ll be my pretty toy for the week. Mine to please and enjoy. I’ll give you anything you want, but you have to do the same for me.”
She wants to resist. I can see it. Her gaze flicks towards her credit card, the indecision warring in her face, and then she looks back at me. There’s desire in her eyes—for me, for what I can do for her, or both. I’m not sure which it is, but it’s there all the same.
Her teeth dig into her lip. “Alright,” she whispers softly. “For the rest of the week. Whatever you want.”
There’s a spark of anticipation in her eyes, and that, combined with the heady knowledge that she’s just agreed to be mine for an entire week, has my blood rushing with excitement, my cock twitching with arousal. “Let’s go back to my suite then, if you’re serious.” I give her a challenging look. “Right now.”
Her breath catches slightly, but she nods. She stands up, and I stand with her, taking her hand as I lead her toward where I’ve already texted my driver to be waiting.
This time, I don’t touch her in the car. The building anticipation is too good, watching her tension grow as we near my hotel. She texted her friend almost as soon as we left—with some excuse, I’m sure, although I doubt it’s the entire truth—and since then, she’s sat an arm’s length away from me, chewing nervously on her lower lip.
“You’re acting as if it’s your first time,” I tell her teasingly, and she flushes all over again.
“I’ve never been someone’s sugar baby before,” she mumbles, and I laugh.
